


A Holiday to Remember

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Friendship, Gen, Jail Fic, Pre-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Frodo and Merry agree to do a job for a couple of strange men in return for a holiday to Minas Tirith, they get more than they bargain for…Based on the show "Locked Up Abroad"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Holiday to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that Merry is 15 years younger than Frodo book canon, but in this I'm making it more movie canon. This is so incredibly AU anyway, so I'm just saying that Merry's about five years younger than Frodo here.

Before the two strangers entered the Prancing Pony, a melancholy shadow had fallen over Frodo‘s heart. The next morning he and Merry were to return home to their decidedly non-adventurous life in the Shire. While the Shire was fine and good and it was home, the trip to Bree had not been quite the adventure that Frodo had hoped for. He wasn’t really sure what he had hoped for, but now that the trip was over, he felt somewhat let down as if more was to have happened but did not.

Traveling to Bree had been Merry’s idea as a celebration of his coming of age. The two cousins had enjoyed a week of new experiences. They had made acquaintances, Big and Little, of the Breefolk, most of whom were eager to talk to Shire hobbits. They had shopped at the market and picked up a variety of exotic spices and fabrics. They had also indulged plenty in Butterbur’s ale, which, while not quite as good as the ale at the Green Dragon, thoroughly contributed to a fulfilling holiday.  

Frodo and Merry now sat in the Common Room and sipped the ale and nibbled on bread and cold meats. A fire crackled in the hearth, the aroma of rabbit stew permeated the room, and there was much laughter and merriment.

“This has been a grand week, has it not?” Merry took a swig of his ale. He wiped his mouth with visible satisfaction.

“I’m glad you convinced me to leave the Shire,” Frodo said. “Strange people, different food.” He laughed. “Even the hobbits are different here.”

“The Breefolk are as queer as can be, aren’t they?” Merry agreed in a lowered voice. “I’ll never understand half of what they’re saying. Although you can bet us Brandybucks have relations here buried in these Bree hills.”

“I expect you are right.” Frodo smiled. “Now Pippin will truly regret not coming with us.”

Merry nodded. “Poor lad.  Duty with Uncle Paladin came at a most inconvenient time. Perhaps we‘ll take him out of the Shire for his coming of age, too.”

Frodo grew suddenly somber. He decided to speak his mind to Merry. “Now that the week is about to end, I was rather hoping for something a bit-”

Merry raised his eyebrows. “More?”

“More,” Frodo agreed, relieved that as usual, Merry understood exactly what he meant. “Although tonight there are some intriguing people in here.” He glanced toward the back corner of the Common Room where a tall man with a hood pulled over his face sat. His muddy boots rested on a stool. Frodo lowered his voice. “Look at that man. There’s something…rather perilous about him. He is an outsider, too. Would that I had the courage to introduce myself.”

“You want to speak to the likes of him?” Merry asked.  “He looks as if he’d just as soon break your neck as talk to you.”

“No, I think not.” Frodo smiled a little. “Not unless I was a goblin. He’s a wandering Ranger.  They &lt;I&gt;are&lt;/I&gt; dangerous folk, but only to those who bring danger to the land.”

“How do you know so much about him?” Merry asked.

“I asked Butterbur. He’s called Strider and he’s mistrusted in these parts. I suppose it’s only natural. Take a look at him.” Frodo took another sip of his ale. “Bree is like the Shire in a lot of ways.“ He paused a moment, looking into his mug. “Don’t you ever long for a real adventure, with just a little danger but with a bed waiting at the end of the day? Or a There and Back Again journey, like Bilbo‘s?”

“Well,” Merry said with a good-natured sniff. “I’m sorry my adventure wasn’t enough for you.”

Frodo cuffed Merry’s arm. “Don’t be a fool, Meriadoc Brandybuck. This was a grand adventure and it far exceeded expectations. Not many in the Shire have even gone this far.” He lifted his mug. “To adventures!”

Merry followed suit. “I’ll drink to that.” They both took big gulps of their ale.

They had scarcely put down their mugs when two men entered the Prancing Pony. Frodo immediately perceived that they were strangers to Bree. They looked around the Common Room with the same wariness that Frodo and Merry must have expressed their first night. These men did not look like most of the Big People of Bree. They were taller and leaner, and both of them had dark, scruffy hair. Their dark eyes had a suspicious edge to them, as if they were used to looking for or hiding from danger. Frodo wondered if they were acquainted with Strider the Ranger. However, they did not seek Strider out, and instead they took a table far from him in another dark corner.  

“Why don’t we ask them if they’ll join us?” Frodo whispered.

“Are you mad?“ Merry asked. “They’re likely scoundrels! Look at how they’re hiding in those shadows.”

“But we’re safe here in the Common Room. We’ll not tell our business.”

Merry paused, studying the room as if to confirm that Frodo was right about safety in the Common Room. “Very well.”

Frodo set down his mug and made his way to the back of the room where the two men had settled with their drinks. Even after a week, Frodo was still awestruck by just how massive everything was outside the Shire. The tables, the chairs, the counters, the houses -- they all towered. This was quite a shock for Frodo, who was tall for a hobbit and accustomed to looming over most hobbits in the Shire.

“Pardon me, sirs,” Frodo said.

The men startled and looked at Frodo in wonder. It was likely that neither of them had never seen a hobbit before that night.

Frodo bowed and said, “Frodo Baggins at your service. I could not help but notice that you are visitors here in Bree. I wondered if you might want to join my cousin and I at our table. We‘re also outsiders, on holiday from the Shire.”

The two men looked at each other. They did not look friendly. Frodo felt a trifle embarrassed and a little alarmed, that perhaps he had inadvertently put himself and Merry into danger. He nearly turned away, prepared to slink back to his and Merry’s table and suggest that they just turn in for the night. But just then one of the two men offered him a grim smile. “That’s very kind of you, Master Baggins,” he said. “But come join us instead. We don’t much like crowds.”  

Frodo nodded with relief.  He waved Merry over, and Merry, looking quite reluctant, brought both of their ales to the men’s table. Frodo felt unfriendly eyes on him, and he glanced across the room. The Ranger that they had noticed earlier was watching them with keen interest. Frodo flinched and turned away, flushing.  It was almost as if the Ranger believed that all four of them were suspicious just by merit of being outsiders.

&lt;I&gt;Humph,&lt;/I&gt; Frodo sniffed to himself. &lt;I&gt;Let him stare. He’s more of an outsider than we are.&lt;/I&gt;

He settled on the bench next to Merry and then turned to the men with a friendly smile. “What brings you to Bree?”

The first man, who introduced himself as Barlen, answered, “We’re here from the South on business.” He twiddled his thumbs. Frodo noticed that they were caked with dirt and that his nails looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in a long time.

“What sort of business?” Merry asked.

“Nothing anyone here would be interested in,” Barlen said rather brusquely.

“Oh.” Frodo was a little put off by his rudeness, but he understood it was likely a cultural misunderstanding. It was normal and accepted for hobbits to pry into everyone’s business, but men from faraway lands might not like that at all. “I apologize. We did not mean to pry.”

“And we do not mean to be discourteous,” Kanat, Barlen’s partner, said in a gentler tone. “It is only that it’s somewhat secret business and there are prying ears and eyes.” He glanced toward the Ranger.

“Oh, him,” Frodo said, laughing. “He’s been giving us dirty looks all night.”

“What are you fellows doing so far from home?” Barlen asked. “The Shire’s a good way from here.”

“My cousin here has just come of age,” Frodo said, “And we decided that it was time for us both to see some of the outside world.”

“The outside world, huh?” Barlen and Kanat looked at each other. “And you have found the outside world in this little village?”

Frodo looked at them, puzzled, wondering if the men were making fun of them. “I know it’s not much, but it is an adventure for us. The Shire is quite sheltered.”

“I don’t know,” Merry said, nudging Frodo with his elbow. “I thought Bree wasn’t enough of an adventure for you.”

Barlen leaned forward across the table. “Would you fellows like to go on a real adventure?”

Frodo and Merry looked at each other. Frodo’s heart sped.

“Do you jest?” Frodo asked. He did not dare to hope that the men might be serious.

“No, I’m quite serious,” Barlen said. “I have an idea, if you’re up for it.”

“Depends on what it is,” Frodo said. He leaned toward the two men.  His cheeks heated with excitement. “Bree is the farthest from home we’ve ever traveled.”

“Is anyone expecting you back home?” Kanat asked. He exchanged another meaningful look with Barlen.

Merry looked a little worried. “We were preparing to go home tomorrow morning. My ma will wonder where we are if we‘re not back in three or four days.”

“Come, let’s have your idea,” Frodo asked of the men.

“Frodo,” Merry said. “I don’t know about this.”

Barlen dropped his voice. “It’s just that we could use some help, and you look like just the sort of fellows that would be perfect for the job.  Kanat and I -- we’re due to meet a friend in the grand city of Minas Tirith, far to the South in Gondor.”

“I know of Minas Tirith,” Frodo said in wonder, turning to Merry. He could scarcely catch his breath. &lt;I&gt;Minas Tirith, the White City.&lt;/I&gt; “It’s many leagues from here. It’s a wondrous city of Men, built into a mountain near the Anduin River and under the shadow of Mount Mindoullin. And the library. Oh, Merry, Gandalf‘s told me all about the library, filled with every scroll and book that you can imagine.”

“How far away is it?” Merry said in a guarded tone.

But all thoughts of returning to the Shire had fled Frodo‘s mind. “Minas Tirith is beyond the edges of any map that you’ve ever seen. Even Bilbo hasn’t been there.”

“Aye,” Kanat said, grinning at Frodo‘s enthusiasm. “Minas Tirith is about a month’s journey if the weather stays fair.”

Barlen dropped his voice to a whisper.  “Here’s what we have in mind.  In Minas Tirith, in the courtyard of the Citadel, there is a dead tree.”

“I know of this tree,” Frodo said.

Kanat looked impressed. “You’ve had a fair amount of schooling for one so sheltered from the outside world.”

Barlen continued. “There’s a healing herb found only on the bark of this special dead tree. We need to get a small amount of it.”

“Why can’t you do it then?” Merry asked. Frodo kicked him under the table.

Barlen laughed. “They don’t let just anyone in the Steward‘s courtyard.  The reason I say you two might be perfect for the job is that you’re small and quiet, and it will be easy for you to sneak inside and take a piece of the bark from the tree without anybody noticing.”

Frodo laughed a bit. “Are you proposing we sneak into this courtyard?” He knew his disappointment showed in his eyes. He wanted an adventure, but he did not wish to do anything lawless. “Is that not trespassing?”

Kanat and Barlen looked at each other again.  Barlen sighed before he explained, “It’s not that it’s against the law, per se, but it is frowned upon. You would be questioned. It would be far more trouble to explain to the guards why two halflings from so far away need to be in the Steward’s courtyard picking at the tree. Better that they stay ignorant of it.”

“I don’t like this,” Merry said, scowling.

“Wait,” Frodo said. “Is it not against the laws of the land to tamper with this special tree? Is it guarded?”

“Barlen is wrong,“ Kanat said reluctantly. “It is against the laws. But the law is there to protect a constant assault against the tree.  A little of this herb goes a long way, see, and it grows back after about a month’s time. We only come about once a year, so no harm to the tree is done. In the past we’ve used young local lads who were small enough to sneak through the hole in the gate, and there’s never yet been a problem. If you do get caught, the worst that would happen is that you’d be scolded and banished from the city.”

Merry shook his head.

Frodo asked, “But where does this herb grow on the bark?”

“You can’t be considering this,” Merry said under his breath.

Kanat smiled at Merry.  “Don’t worry, little master. It is a very small thing. You merely have to take a piece of bark and sneak right back out of the courtyard. That’s all. In return, we will make certain that you enjoy a holiday beyond any you will ever experience.”

“A holiday?” Frodo asked.

“Here is what we propose,” Barlen added. “We shall take you safely to Minas Tirith. Once we arrive there, you will stay in luxurious lodgings on the sixth level of the city for a full fortnight. During that time you may enjoy the city, luxuriate in the bathes -- the best in Middle-earth outside of Umbar. And for the bookish and curious in you,” and here he glanced at Frodo, “there is a certain grand library.”  

Frodo clutched Merry’s hand under the table.  He knew that his eyes must betray his excitement.

Barlen went on, and his smile faded. “On the last night, you must slip into the courtyard and do your job. It should take no longer than a quarter of an hour. The next day we will leave Minas Tirith. No harm done.”

“But how shall we sneak past the guards?” Frodo asked. That part worried him. He had never done anything lawless, much less in a foreign land. But if it was a small risk, no harm done, then he would be willing to risk this small act in order to explore that library for a whole fortnight.

Barlen said, “You’re small and quiet. You’ll sneak into the courtyard during the changing of the guards. If by some foul luck you get caught, you merely plead ignorance of being from a distant land.”

Merry whispered in Frodo’s ear, “I don’t know. It seems dangerous. There are guards, Frodo. Tall guards with swords and they know how to use those swords.”

“I want to go,” Frodo said to Barlen, “But we’re uncomfortable with the sneaking part.”

Kanat looked suddenly sad. “That is a fair concern, and perhaps what I say next will ease your conscience. One of the reasons I gather this herb is for my sister.  My sister suffers from a disease that leaves her in nearly constant pain. The herb from this bark is the only thing that eases it. When this herb is mixed into tea, it relieves pain. It’s far more potent even than kingsfoil. ”

Frodo and Merry looked at each other. It was for a good cause.  In that case, what did a little sneaking matter?  Merry looked a bit pale, but Frodo was pretty sure that he’d be able to convince him if they were alone.

“May we have some privacy to decide?” Frodo asked.

Kanat nodded. “Go on and think about it.  We’ll be here for the next few hours. We‘ll leave at dawn if you decide upon coming.”

  
Once Frodo and Merry reached their room, Frodo paced in front of the fireplace. His cheeks burned with excitement.  “Can you imagine such an adventure?  So far away, far beyond where perhaps any other hobbit has traveled.”

“Does it not disturb you that they want us to steal?” Merry asked. “It makes me anxious. They’re using us, Frodo.  What if these guards do more than scold us if we get caught?”

“Yes, of course the matter of stealing bark from a heavily guarded tree is a bit of a risk, but,” and Frodo bit his lip. “That will only be a small part. Likely we won‘t get caught, and if we do, the worst that will happen that we’ll be humiliated and banished from the city.” He laughed a little. “And of course the shame of having to explain to Gandalf and Bilbo.”

“Minas Tirith is so far,” Merry said.  “Ma’s going to hang me for being gone for so long.”

“I know,” Frodo said ruefully. He knelt in front of the fire, rubbing his hands, more out of nerves than for warmth. “I know.  But think about it. How often will we get such an opportunity?”

Merry suddenly looked determined. “All right, let’s do it.“ Frodo looked at him in surprise, and he continued. “If we do not go, we’ll always wonder, and I know you’d never stop talking about it and then you might run off on your own without me.”

Frodo looked at Merry in surprise. “I’ll never do that.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Truly.” Frodo was moved by how relieved Merry looked, and he put his arm around Merry’s shoulders. “But I’m glad that you’ll come to Minas Tirith with me. So glad.”

  
***

  
The city of Minas Tirith far exceeded the hobbits’ expectations.  From the moment Frodo caught a glimpse of the white glimmering towers that seemed to stretch up into an infinite jewel blue sky, he had been struck dumb with wonder.  Their travels up until that point had been a blur of dusty trails, tasteless meals of dried meat and berries, cold barren wilderness, and uncomfortable nights camping on frozen ground under the stars.  The hobbits had begun to question the wisdom of coming along on this quest, and Frodo had begun to worry that the men’s idea of their coming luxury accommodations in Minas Tirith might be far more bare-boned than a hobbit’s.

But here they were now, in the grandest of cities of Men.  Barlen and Kanat shuttled them through the first gates and up a sharply inclining street. The street bustled with tall and noble-looking people going about their daily business. Horses clattered past them.  People shouted their wares, and lines of tall soldiers in gleaming black and silver marched.  If Frodo and Merry had thought Bree was busy and loud, they would now say that in comparison to Minas Tirith, Bree was as quiet as a countryside.  Stone buildings towered to unknown heights above them, decorated by intricately carved terraces. People stared at the strangers, but not for long, and Frodo assumed that most people probably guessed that they were children.

Barlen and Kanat led them up through several more gates until at last they reached a tall, clean white stone building with an arched door.  Once inside, Frodo could see it was an inn, but it was the fanciest inn he had ever seen.  His eyes widened at the marble floors, the high dome ceiling, artwork on all the walls.  

If they were shocked by the extravagance of the inn, they were even more so by the huge room.  Two beds, bigger than any Frodo had ever seen, were decorated by plush pillows and layered with down feather blankets.  Nearby baths appeared more like small ponds filled with bubbling water into which flowed waterfalls of clear clean water.  A huge curved window overlooked most of the White City and beyond.  Frodo caught sight of the silver Anduin River glittering with late afternoon sun.

“Good gracious,” Frodo said to himself. “It’s almost as if we’re guests of the Steward himself.”

“I trust you find your lodgings to your liking?” Barlen asked.

“To my liking?” Frodo laughed. He turned around and squeezed Merry around the waist. “This is beyond anything I could ever imagine.”

Merry nodded, too stunned to speak.

“Here you will stay here for two weeks,” Barlen went on. “Forget not that you are not to speak of your mission to anyone. That is of utmost importance. People will be curious about you, and you are only to say that you are on a holiday. We will come to you the evening before the deed.”

“Of course,” Frodo said, rather insulted that Barlen had needed to remind them of discretion.

After Barlen and Kanat left them, Frodo and Merry scurried toward the baths with eager laughter.  Merry dipped a furry foot inside. “It’s warm. I’m getting in now.”

“And look here,” Frodo said, picking up a menu. “All this food can be ordered right up here to the room! I’ve never heard of some of these foods. Orange-flavored chicken?  Salmon and wedged potatoes? Shall we order one of everything, just to taste it?”

Merry laughed. “One of everything sounds good. Anything is better than the abominable grub we lived on while traveling.”

The food turned out to be beyond anything Frodo had ever tasted. Meats flavored with new herbs and spices.  Some dishes that he bit into filled his mouth with spices so pungent that his eyes watered.  Others were tangy and tart.  The sweet dishes consisted of honeyed pastry and almonds, and the hobbits couldn’t get enough of those.

They went to sleep with nicely full stomachs.  Frodo curled the down blanket around him until he slept in a cocoon of soft warmth.  He slept far better than he had since leaving Bree.

In the morning, after the hobbits had already ordered and eaten two breakfasts, Frodo asked the servant about the library in the Citadel.  The servant had already become quite charmed by the sweet, curious Halflings who ate more at one sitting than an entire company of Citadel guards.  He had once himself been a guard of the Citadel but had been forced to retire because of a battle injury.  

“I’ll take you myself,” he said. “The guards will let us pass. They know me and you’ll be my guest.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” Frodo turned to Merry. “Do you want to go?”

“Maybe another day,” Merry said. “Today I believe I’ll just relax in the bath and nap some more. Go on and have a good time. Don’t get yourself into any trouble!”

 Frodo followed the servant up the street, through the gates to the Citadel, and across the very courtyard he knew he was to later sneak into. Stony-faced guards eyed him in curiosity and Frodo tried not to let his eyes linger too long on the dead tree.  

The tree was forgotten when Frodo reached the library. Minas Tirith’s library housed more books and scrolls and maps than Frodo had ever seen in one place. Oh how he longed for Bilbo to be there with him.  He imagined sitting for hours with Bilbo in this library, poring over scroll after scroll, asking millions of questions, losing track of time.

The servant bowed.  “I will leave you here, Master Halfling. Nobody much comes in here, although occasionally the Steward’s son does.”

“Oh,” Frodo said in surprise. “How shall I address him if he does come here?”

The servant smiled. “A simple bow will do. Young Faramir doesn’t care much for formalities. He fancies books and has a love of faraway places. I am quite certain he will enjoy talking to you.”

The servant took his leave, and Frodo spent the first hour wandering the room, trying to decide what to look at first.  At last he pulled down some scrolls that looked like maps. He was smiling over a detailed map of Harad when he heard a soft noise. He glanced up to see a visibly shocked young man with golden hair that fell at his shoulders and gray eyes, noble in features, too well dressed to be a servant.  

The Steward’s son, Frodo thought, flustered. He stumbled from his chair and bowed.

“No, no, none of that,” the young man said, waving his hand in embarrassment.  “I am Faramir, the steward’s son.” He looked at Frodo in wonder. “What sort of creature are you?”

“I am Frodo Baggins, a Halfling of the Shire. Far to the north.”

“You come out of legends, here in our own library. Whence…?”

Frodo laughed, somewhat embarrassed by Faramir‘s fascination. “My kinsman Meriadoc Brandybuck and I have come for a rare holiday. I had heard about your library and had to see for myself. Have I disturbed you? Would you like me to leave you in peace?”

“No, no, on the contrary, I very much want to ask you about your land and your people. Would you join me for a late lunch?”

“Certainly.” Frodo could not wait to tell Merry about this. Lunch with the Steward’s son. Merry would be awfully sorry he chose a bath over the library. “I would be honored to join you for lunch.”

  
Once on the terrace outside of Faramir’s quarters, Frodo was in awe of just how beautiful Minas Tirith and the surrounding lands were. The Anduin was silver and misty in the distance.  The fields beyond the city were a patchwork of greens and yellows.  The stone that made the city shimmered under the sunlight. And so much ornate architecture, so different and so much more refined and advanced than anything Frodo had ever seen in the Shire and Breeland.  

Their lunch consisted of cold meats and fresh bread, butter and jam, and other dainties.  A jug contained the finest red wine in Gondor.

Frodo took a sip of wine. “Your city is astonishing. There is so much beauty. You must have a rich history, especially given that you live on the border,” he swallowed, “Of so many enemies.”

Faramir nodded. “This is a city worth preserving.  We are often at war, which casts a shadow on everything.”

“War?”

Faramir looked amused. “You Halflings truly are sheltered, aren’t you?”

Frodo grimaced apologetically. “I’m afraid so.”

“Do not ever beg pardon for that,” Faramir said with surprising passion. “It moves my heart to know that such pockets of safety remain in the world. It is a reminder of why the noble men of Gondor fight.”

“Yes,” Frodo said. “The valor of your people deserve many thanks. Thank you, Faramir.”

Faramir flushed. “I myself am not a fighter. That is, I do my duty when it calls, but it is my brother Boromir who is the warrior in the family.  We fight against the shadow in the east, but at times it seems pointless and dull, and very dark.”

Frodo sipped more wine. “Most of my people are unaware that there is such nobility, fighting for their protection.”

“Tell me about your land,” Faramir said. “It must be bountiful and peaceful.”

Frodo smiled. “What would you like to know?”

Faramir smiled. “Everything you would tell me.”

So Frodo spoke on and on about the Shire. At first he spoke haltingly, rather afraid that he might bore the steward’s son, but as he took more wine, his tongue loosened. He found Faramir to be a very focused and sympathetic listener. Frodo found himself telling him about the night his parents had drowned in the Brandywine and how he had been raised an orphan in Brandy Hall for so many years until Bilbo had taken him away as his heir.

Faramir looked deeply sympathetic.  “I lost my mother when I was very young, too,” he said. “I am sorry.  And in effect I lost my father, too, for he became grim and distant after she died.”

“I do not remember much about my parents,” Frodo said. “But I remember that my mother had kindly rosy cheeks and that my father had a deep laugh. I think they were merry folk.” A pang of wistfulness took his heart. “But I would rather talk about something more cheerful, I think.”

He went on to describe a foolish prank he had played as a youngster at Brandy Hall, and the mood lightened again. They exchanged childhood stories back and forth, from Frodo’s mushroom excursions to Faramir’s hiding in the library to avoid sword play.  Frodo had not laughed so much in a long time.

“I am sorry,” Faramir finally said. “Soon I must take my leave and fulfill some of my duties. Training new guards today.”

“Not your favorite thing to do,” Frodo said. The sun was already started to set. Merry was probably worried.

“Nay,” Faramir said. “I will gladly go a few moments late.  Father is already not pleased with me. He does not bother to give me anything more challenging than training the city guards, such as those who guard the White Tree in the courtyard.”

Frodo felt suddenly jolted back into the reality of what his purpose in Minas Tirith was.  “Guards…for the tree?”

“You probably do not know much about it, being from such a faraway land.”  
Frodo said nothing, and Faramir continued, “Long ago the hope of our land died with this tree, but we keep it guarded as a sign of hope. It is the noble duty of the Steward of Minas Tirith to keep it so.”

“What do you guard against?”

“Many things. Some of it symbolic, a reminder of the generations that have passed since the founding of the city.”

Frodo nodded.

“But,” Faramir went on. “We have also had trouble with vandalism.  You see, there grows on the bark of this dead tree a special herb.  Men of bad intent try to steal it. There is no medicinal use for it, but it provides a feeling of false wellbeing to whosoever drinks it.  In fact the herb can be very dangerous and has been known to kill people even in small doses.”

“No medicinal use?” Frodo asked. His heart felt tight and constricted inside his chest. “Not even for the relief of any ailments, pain perhaps?”

“Nay.” Faramir laughed bitterly. “The herb is in truth foul. It does not grow on live trees. It is said that is left over from ages past from the Black Numenoreans.”

Frodo was struck silent. He felt suddenly cold.  Barlen and Kanat had lied, and  Frodo had been foolish enough to believe the nonsense about pain relief for Kanat’s sister. He was embarrassed by how innocent he had been, how eager he had been to squelch all suspicions in order to go on this journey.  The two men had known how unworldly he and Merry had been, how vulnerable hobbits were to the harsh outside world.

“And now I really must take your leave,” Faramir said. “Talking to you is far better diversion. Perhaps tomorrow we can dine together again.”

“I would like that,” Frodo said automatically, although his throat closed miserably.  He did not feel worthy of such a friendship.  He wished he could trust Faramir.  If he could feel sure that Kanat and Barlen would be locked up, he would. But then he didn’t know if Kanat and Barlen had other friends in the city who might avenge them and who surely knew about the Halflings in Minas Tirith who were supposed to work for them.

That night Frodo and Merry lay on their beds, contemplating their day. Frodo had told Merry all about his afternoon with Faramir, although he was sad that it had ended on such an uncomfortable note.

“I cannot believe it,” Merry said. “You dined with the Steward’s son?”

“I did,” Frodo said. “But I only wish I was truly here on a holiday.”  He then told Merry what Faramir had told him about the herb.  “He’s a good man and I regret betraying his friendship.”

“I might have known,” Merry said under his breath.  “Well, there’s nothing to it but to just get it over with when the time comes.”

“Yes, yes,” Frodo said. “We should just get it over with. Surely there can’t be too much harm in just a bit of the bark being taken away.”

During the next two weeks, Frodo tried to shove the coming burglary to the back of his mind.  He decided that he would enjoy every day that he was in Minas Tirith. He would enjoy Faramir’s friendship for what it was worth every day.

 As the two weeks passed, his friendship with Faramir deepened, and sometimes they spent hours just sitting in the library reading in silent companionship.  Other times  they dined together on Faramir‘s terrace. Faramir took him and Merry on a tour of the city.

Usually Merry did not come with Frodo to meet Faramir because he had befriended some of the other guests in the lodging, two noblemen from Dol Amroth. He had purchased several trinkets and souvenirs to bring back to the Shire.

  
Each night they told each other about their adventures while sampling all the delicacies of Minas Tirith.  Sometimes Frodo even forgot why he was in Minas Tirith and during those times, he truly felt content.

  
Then came the evening before the deed was to be done. Frodo and Merry were restless. In fact they had sent most of their food back to the kitchen uneaten.  They took no enjoyment out of the baths or the beautiful sunset that turned the Anduin a beautiful shade of glimmering pink.  

“This is a fine pickle we have ourselves in, as Samwise Gamgee would say,” Frodo said.   “This is abominable. I wish, oh if only there was a way to get out of it.  Maybe they can find a local lad.”

“We could ask them if someone else can do it and we can pay them for their trouble,” Merry said. “We may have to beg, borrow, and steal from everyone we know, but it might be worth it in the end.”

“I should have told Faramir,” Frodo said with a sigh. “He might have helped.”

“Too risky,” Merry said, shaking his head. “We don’t know what would have come of that. Best just to go forth with it, I suppose, and leave. Lesson learned.”

  
A knock at the door startled them. Reluctantly Frodo climbed off the bed and walked to the door. He looked back at Merry in despair before opening it.

It was Barlen and Kanat, as expected.  They seemed larger than usual, more ominous. Frodo beckoned them inside the room, and they closed the door tightly behind them.

“Have you enjoyed your holiday?” Kanat asked.  

“Very much so,” Merry said.  Frodo nodded. His throat felt tight.

“The food is to your liking, I take it,” Barlen said with a smirk, “based on your food tab.”

Frodo flushed.   “It was very good, thank you.”

Barlen settled in a plush arm chair.  “I want to go over the details of what you will do when you get the bark.”

“Barlen,” Frodo broke in. “Merry and I were thinking.” He looked wildly at his cousin.  Merry sighed and looked down at his feet.

Barlen’s eyes narrowed.

Frodo continued, his heart pounding. “That is, we wondered if we might pay you and you find a local lad to do this deed.”

Kanat rolled his eyes and laughed grimly.

Barlen’s eyes hardened. “But we took you here for the very purpose of you doing this job. You’re not backing out on your side of the deal, are you?”

“We would pay you for all your trouble,” Frodo said quickly. “We are not cheating you. We only, well--”

“We would rather someone else did it,” Merry finished.

Barlen jumped to his feet and drew his sword. Frodo stumbled backward against the bed.

Barlen strode to Frodo and put his blade at Frodo’s neck. “I don’t want to get rough about this, but if I have to, I will. You have but one choice. That choice is to get the herb for us. At that time of your successful gathering of the herb, we will guarantee your safe passage home and we will part ways in Bree again, no harm done.  We are men of our words. But if you deceive us in any way, such as if you were to say, disappear, in the next few hours and we couldn’t find you, then we will hunt you down and you will beg for death.  Do I make myself understood?”

“Yes,” Frodo said. The blade was cold on his throat.  He and Merry were way over their heads in this matter. Even if they were to successfully escape Minas Tirith, there was no way that they could manage the trip home on their own. He could beg for help from Faramir, but that might make it worse. Either Faramir would decide that he was a criminal and have him banished or locked up, or Barlen would find out, and that would be far worse.  

“I’m glad that’s clear,” Barlen said, sheathing his sword. “Now let’s go over what I want you to do.”

Frodo could barely pay attention as Barlen unfolded the map of the courtyard. Oh, if only it were all over already.

“The guard changes at midnight,” Barlen said.  “You are to sneak through this hole in the wall. Do you see?” He tapped on the map.

Frodo cleared his throat. “How do we guarantee that you’ll grant us safe passage back to Bree?”

Merry paled, but Frodo went on, “You have threatened us several times. How can we guarantee a safe passage home?”

Barlen laughed. “All we want is the bark. If you get the bark to us safe and sound, you’ll hear no more threats from us.”

Frodo had no way of knowing whether it was true or not, but he had no choice but to accept Barlen‘s word for that.  

At last Barlen and Kanat left with the promise that they would be back at dawn for the bark.

  
“I’m sorry,” Frodo said to Merry after they left. “This is all my fault. I got you into this mess. I should know better. Perhaps we shouldn’t give them all the herb until we get back to Bree.”

Merry snorted. “What will stop them from taking it from us by force?”

Frodo sighed. “Oh, Merry. I only wish we truly were just here on a holiday. If we get through this, perhaps we’ll come back some day as guests of honor to the Steward’s son.  He’s a kind man. A very kind man.”

“Maybe you could appeal to his kindness to protect us,” Merry said.

“I’ve considered it, but I do not think it is wise,” Frodo said. “Too much could go wrong. Faramir has no obligation to help. And it seems his father does not give him much authority.”

Merry leaned forward. “But it seems to me that he took a liking to you. He might help more than you imagine. And surely he’d like to know of any lawlessness going on in his city.”

“I was thinking,” Frodo said, looking forward and clutching his hands together. “That I should be the one to do the deed. Alone. One of us is better than two, and if something happens or if I get caught, then it won’t be both of us caught. You can send for help then.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Merry said fiercely. “We’re in this together.”

“One hobbit is stealthier than two.”

“I know.” Merry squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “But all the same, let us just get it done and over with and when we get home, we’ll have quite the tale for poor Pippin, who is no doubt beside himself that we’ve left him behind for this grand adventure.”

Frodo managed a grin, and the ominous clot in his stomach relieved.  “Oh, can you imagine if he was here? He would have somehow talked the men out of making us do this.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Merry said, forcing a laugh. “He would probably be in jail right now. Or gotten all three of us thrown in prison.”  

“Perhaps,” Frodo said. “I was wondering…on the way home, do you suppose our er…companions would take us back by way of Rivendell?  From there I suppose we could make our way home on our own on the main road.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Merry said, although he looked uncertain. “But don’t forget that they’re criminals. Do you really suppose they’d like to be anywhere near to Elves, who would likely read their hearts?”

“You’re right, I suppose,” Frodo said in a wistful manner.  “Although I dearly wish that I could see Bilbo.  It’s been such a long time.”

“We don’t even know for certain that he’s there.”

“His heart has always lain in Rivendell,” Frodo said.

“Maybe Rivendell can be our next adventure. And we don’t need these criminals for that.”

Frodo grasped Merry‘s hand. “Merry, I’m glad that you’re here. I‘ve really made a muddle of things. I promise I will make this up to you when we get back home.”

Merry squeezed Frodo’s hand.  “I wouldn’t have let you go through this on your own.”

“I’m going on my own to get the bark.”

“Frodo-”

Frodo put up his hand to silence his cousin. “What could be quieter than one lone hobbit? You stay here. Just in case it goes wrong. I’ll need you then. Then I‘ll beg you to go to Faramir and plead help.”

“Hush,” Merry said. “Don’t even say that it will go wrong. You’ll be back in an hour or two. I’ll be up waiting.”

Frodo got up. He lifted his cloak and then thought better of it. The fewer clothes he wore, the more likely he could be stealthy.

“Be careful,” Merry said.  “Don’t you get caught. I can’t imagine being in this stone city without you.”

Frodo kissed Merry’s cheek and stepped out into the dark street.  He trekked over the cold stone, shivering, until he reached the gate. He could not go through the gate as he did as Faramir’s guest. This time he was to sneak around it. He crouched forward as to avoid being seen by the gate guards. He flattened himself against the stone wall. In order to get to the breach in the wall, he had to shimmy along a lethal edge. He looked down into the dizzying abyss that during daylight would be the Pelennor Fields below. If he slipped, he would come to a nasty end.  He forced himself not to look and focused on placing one foot in front of the other.  He breathed in and out, thinking only of reaching the hole in the wall.

After what felt like hours but was most likely just a few minutes, he arrived at the hole. He could see why Barlen and Kanat only picked small lads to do this task. Only a small lad or hobbit could possibly fit through the tiny hole.  Frodo was relieved to crawl away from the edge, but once inside the hole, he felt stifled, closed in. He was supposed to wait like a burrowed rabbit until he saw the changing of the guard.  

He waited. Despite the night chill, sweat pooled under his arms and trickled down his back.  Just as he despaired ever getting out of the hole, the guards started to shift, and he knew he had to move or he would never get another chance.  He slithered forward out of the hole, dropped to the dewy grass, and scrambled to his feet. He tried to keep as low to the ground as possible. His stomach fluttered, but he ignored it. He ran as quickly and quietly as he could across the courtyard, not even daring to release his breath until he stumbled at the base of the tree.

Quickly, quickly, the guards were changing and any minute, if they looked down at a certain angle, they were bound to see him. His now numb hands trembled as he pried at a piece of bark. It came loose with an alarmingly loud crack.  Frodo cringed in terror, staying absolutely frozen. The sweat on his brow turned cold and then hot.  He had the bark in his hands now. All he had to do was make it back to that hole. He did not know how he was going to do it. The guard had already changed. Surely they would now notice a shadow darting across the grass. And even if he made it back to the hole, he would have to face another harrowing walk along that ledge again.

Frodo kept a final eye on the one guard that he could see. He saw that he was distracted, looking in a different direction. Frodo took his chance and bolted across the field, keeping himself crouched down, silent, no more noticeable than a rabbit.  So far so good. No alarm had been sounded. Nobody had shouted. He reached the hole. Once inside it again, he clutched himself, shivering with relief. He had made it.  

He waited until the trembling passed and he had gathered his strength again before he placed the bark inside his trouser pocket. The sooner he got back to Merry the better. They could then order a celebratory feast from the kitchen. He had eaten almost nothing that evening and was alarmingly hungry.

He just had to make it along this dangerous edge again and he would be free. Walking along the edge this time was much harder the second time, especially now that his muscles felt fatigued from the dart across the courtyard and back. Before he hadn’t known what to expect, but now he knew that it was a long trek back to solid ground.

“One foot at a time, one foot at a time,” he muttered to himself. “No use thinking about more than that. And for goodness sake, don’t look down.”

Step after step, he inched along, clutching the stone wall with icy fingers.  He began to go a little faster, knowing that when he finally finished, he would be free to go back to Merry, free for them both to go back home.

Then his left foot slipped. He grabbed at a jutting rock, his heart pounding as his body flailed to find balance. For several seconds it was up in the air whether he was to live or perish, to stay on the ledge or go plummeting far, far into the abyss. Finally it seemed he was safe again. He leaned his sweaty brow against the stone and took several big, gasping breathes, struggling to gain the courage to keep going.  

At last he got the courage to go on, although he went much slower now.

After what felt like years, Frodo stumbled back onto the shadowy road in front of the gate.  He looked behind him. He trembled all over now that the immediate danger to his life was over.  He had the bark and now he just needed to make his way back down the shadowy street.

“Halt.”

  
The guard’s stern voice twisted Frodo’s insides.  He froze. Cold metal touched his throat.

“Turn around, lad,” a second voice said, “you’re in trouble.”

The blade left Frodo’s throat and he obeyed. He was pressed in on all sides by three tall guards. One of them held a torch, and the heat bathed his face.

The expressions on the guards’ faces changed from irritation to confusion when they got a true look at Frodo‘s face.

“This is no lad,” the first guard said. He dropped to one knee to get a better look. “Come,” he said to Frodo. “What sort of creature are you? Are you some kind of dwarf?” He looked doubtful.

“Pardon me,” Frodo said. His lips trembled, but Bilbo had always taught him that good manners would get him everywhere, or at least help a little, no matter how sticky the situation. He spoke in as refined manner as possible. “I am called Frodo Baggins. I come from the Shire, far to the North. I was sent on an errand.” His voice trailed off when the guards looked at one another in scorn.

The second guard looked grim. “We think we know what sort of errand. Will you give it up willingly?”

A sense of dismay gripped Frodo then and his thoughts turned toward Merry in desperation. Frodo had been caught, plain and simple, and Barlen and Kanat were going to find out within a few hours. Merry would be in danger.  Frodo’s hands trembled, but he dug through the pocket in his breeches. He held the piece of bark up to the guards with as steady a hand as possible.

“I hope it was worth it for you,“ the first guard said in a clipped voice. “The penalty for robbing the White Tree is death.”

Frodo face numbed. Surely the guards were jesting with him, tormenting him for robbing their Tree.  But it was even more possible that Barlen and Kanat had lied. They had lied already about the healing properties of the herbs, so it made sense that they had also known that the penalty was death.

Frodo lost all courage then, and he backed into one of the guards. He was close to collapse, so limp and numb his legs felt.  His hands were wrenched behind him and tied roughly with rope. He was too weak to struggle.

“Shall we wake the Steward?” one of the guards asked.

“Nay, his son can deal with this matter.”

A faint shiver of relief hit Frodo then. Perhaps they meant Faramir. Faramir would not allow harm to come to him. Then he felt a deep shame that Faramir, who had treated him with such kindness and generosity would now see him as a common thief.  He threw his thoughts toward Merry, silently pleading with him to do something clever before Kanat and Barlen discovered that Frodo had been caught. Before too long Merry would start to get worried when Frodo didn’t return to the inn. He only hoped that Merry was not foolish enough to wait for the criminals.

The guards pushed Frodo forward toward the towering Citadel.  They were not particularly gentle, nor did they take into account shorter legs. Once inside the cold, dark corridor of the Citadel, the guards led Frodo into a cold room with no windows.  The room had only two pieces of furniture in it, one a heavy writing bureau and the other, a chair.  Frodo’s trembling had not abated since being captured, and now he trembled not only from terror, but also from the bone-chilling cold.  His wrists ached from the ropes that bound them so tightly.  He could no longer feel his fingers. His throat was dry, and his stomach heaved alarmingly. The guards had closed the door to the cold room and left him alone. He had no choice but to stand in place, wondering what was to become of him.  He thought back to that long ago night in Bree when he and Merry had met Barlen and Kanat. This was all his fault for insisting that he and Merry talk to the strange men.  He had been childish and stubborn, all in the name of having an adventure.

The door to the room opened suddenly, causing Frodo to startle, and in walked a surly-looking man, well-dressed, handsome in face. This man was very near in demeanor to Faramir, but not as kind and now seemingly put-out for having been awakened from sleep. Frodo assumed him to be Boromir, Faramir’s older brother. The man towered over him.  Frodo forced himself to look up, to meet his stern gray eyes.

“Where do you come from?” Boromir demanded. He studied Frodo from top to bottom. “They said you were some sort of dwarf spy. You are no dwarf. No Elf either. What sort of spy are you?”

“I am…” Frodo struggled to speak. “I am a Hobbit, sir. A Halfling. From the Shire. Far to the north.”

He longed for something to lean on. His legs threatened to give out, and he feared he would collapse. This man would bear him no sympathy, this Frodo could see. Unlike Faramir, Boromir was hardened, used to dealing with battle and used to viewing the outside world with suspicion.

Boromir asked, “What is your age?”

Frodo straightened his shoulders. Perhaps the best he could do was to try to demonstrate that despite being caught as a common thief, he was normally a refined gentlehobbit.

“Thirty-nine, sir.”

“You are no child then.”

“No. I‘ve been of age for six years.”

“What you have done bears the penalty of death.”

The confirmation of the proclamation the guards had made earlier tore at Frodo’s heart and he could remain calm no more. He said, “My lord, I would beg your mercy. I meant no harm. I am no spy and meant no harm to the Tree.  These men, they told me that the herb on the bark was to be used for pain for his sister. I believed it harmless--”

Boromir broke in. “We have heard every tired excuse under this sun. Either you are very foolish or very sly.”

“The former, I’m afraid,” Frodo said and swallowed hard.

Boromir laughed grimly. “The bark is not used for pain, although I imagine it might do something for the pain. No matter. Whether you acted in cold disregard for the health of the Tree or in blatant ignorance, it is unfortunate for you. This is a crime that my father abhors more than most. You will not be the first to be put to death for attempting to steal this bark.”

Frodo felt the cold soak deep down into his bones. “When?…How?” He could not truly grasp that this was actually happening to him. Surely it must be a big jest. Perhaps something Barlen and Janat had arranged as vengeance for Frodo‘s reluctance to do the task.

“Father will choose between hanging or throat slitting for your fate. What say you?” Boromir looked down at him like he was as foul a criminal as they came.

Frodo swallowed and lifted his chin. “May I speak to your brother Faramir?”

Boromir looked surprised. “My brother?  What has my brother to do with this matter?”

“Nothing,” Frodo said. “Only I have spoken to him on more than one occasion and I consider him a fair and just man.”

Boromir sighed with impatience. “Faramir is indeed kind and fair. Too much so for his own good. For that reason, Father does not allow him to interfere in such matters.  Fear not. You will likely have a few months to consider your fate before my father gets around to your case.”

“Please,” Frodo said, his heart thudding. A wild sense of panic took him. “Is there nothing I can do? If you banish me from your land, I assure you I would never return. I live far, far to the North.”

“That judgment is not within my power to dole out.”

Frodo could not keep the horror from his expression. He felt then the full weight of being so far away from home. He had put his cousin Merry in grave danger, had forfeited his own life, and all because he had been made a fool by common, low criminals, all because he had wanted an adventure. The idea that he might never see Merry or Pippin or Fatty Bolger or Bilbo the Shire again gripped his throat and he struggled to keep from weeping.

Boromir gestured to the two guards standing at attention. “Take him down.”

Frodo did not remember much of the journey to the dungeon, but he knew was taken deep, deep down into the bowels of the Citadel where the stone floor was damp and cold and there was hardly any light except from the torches the guards carried.  The guards were not rough with him, but they were not particularly gentle, and his wrists ached from their grip.   They paused outside of a cell and untied his arms.  They unlocked the cell and thrust him inside.

Once inside the cell, Frodo realized  that he was not alone.  In the barely existent light, he saw the lumps of two shadows on the floor, each under a thin, ratty blanket.  Frodo stood in the center of the cell, shivering, uncertain what to do.  At last he crept toward the far back corner of the cell where there was an extra blanket. In doing so, he tripped over a large foot.    

The man over whom Frodo had tripped cursed and sat up. “What’s the racket?”  

“I’m sorry,” Frodo whispered, settling into the corner, hoping it would swallow him up.  He buried himself under the tiny blanket, which was so thin and tattered he could not imagine it keeping out the chill.

The man squinted into the semi-dark. “What sort of creature are you? Not a child, but not a man either. A dwarf?”

“I’m a Hobbit. A Halfling. Frodo Baggins at your service.”

“I’ll get a better look at you in the daylight but for right now, it’s best if you go to sleep and keep quiet.”

Frodo curled on the hard floor, trembling still. There would be no sleep for him that night. He pulled the thin blanket over his shivering form to his chin. His teeth chattered. His cellmates were sleeping, but he could not. He could not imagine what the daylight would bring.  He was trapped in a small area with two men, far larger and stronger than he, who were criminals.  The last thing he wanted to do was to anger either of them. He spent the remainder of the night trying not to move or make any sound at all.  He hoped fervently that Merry had realized that something had gone dreadfully wrong.

Please, please do something clever, Frodo thought.

But if Merry stayed at the inn and Barlen and Kanat arrived for the bark, then what would happen? They might assume that Frodo had run away, had cheated them. Perhaps Frodo should have told Boromir about Merry.  They would not have put Merry to death since he had not been actually caught with the bark and perhaps Faramir could find a way to protect him. Merry was clever. Somehow he would think of something. He would get to Faramir.

&lt;I&gt;Oh, my dear Merry, I promise if I see you again, I’ll never get you into a mess like this again.&lt;/I&gt;

At last Frodo fell into a fitful doze. The next morning dawned, filtering gray light into the cell from a tiny knob of a window high up the wall.  Frodo could make out the others in his cell. One was a handsome man, noble in features, with sharp cheekbones and gray eyes.  Another was a hunched, rather stout man, the one that Frodo had awakened in the night.

“All right,“ that man said when he noticed that Frodo was awake. “Now I can get a good look at you. Stand up.” Frodo obeyed because he imagined that if he did not, he would be forced. Or worse.  The gray-eyed man also watched him with keen interest.

“This is truly as big as you get? You’re just a small thing, aren’t you? Skin soft, like a maiden, too.  And those feet. I’ve never seen anything like this. Hair on the feet.” He chuckled a little. Frodo felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny but he stood absolutely still.

“He has an Elvish air,” the man with the gray eyes said. He looked kindlier than the other, and Frodo looked at him with hope.  He also spoke with a refined voice, similar in manner to Faramir.  “I am Barsothon. And your friend here is Elrol.”

“Frodo Baggins at your service,” Frodo said with a slight bow, again making the men chuckle. Frodo was left puzzled. He would never understand the manners of men.

“Where do you come from?” Barsothon asked.

“From far to the north in a land called The Shire where the land is green and the people merry and simple.” Frodo sighed bitterly.  He would never see the Shire again.

“What has brought you on so far a journey?” Elrol asked.

“A dreadful mistake,” Frodo said. “For which I must pay dearly. I shall never see my home again, it seems. I’m to be put to death.”

The other two stared at him, stunned.  “What in the world did you do?” Barsothon asked. “How does the Steward consider you such a threat?”

“It matters not,” Frodo said.  “If these are to be the last months of my life, it should be somewhat pleasant. Will you not befriend me?” It was a bold request but it came straight from his heart.  “It is unbearable to think about being alone in the world in my last days.”

“We have nothing but time here,” Elrol said. He shrugged.

“For my part, I would accept your friendship,” Barsothon said in a quiet voice. “And give you what comfort I can.”

“How long have you been in here?” Frodo asked. He felt much more relieved now that he felt confident that his cellmates were decent sorts or at least they did not seem inclined to do him harm. He settled on the floor. The three of them sat in a circle, as if they were around a campfire. Frodo pulled the thin blanket over his shoulders. He might never feel warmth again.

“Twenty years, I believe, or perhaps twenty-one,” Barsothon said.

“Twenty years?” Frodo asked in disbelief. “How have you not been driven to madness?”

“I take it one day at a time,” Barsothon said. His gray eyes were so sad.  

“Do you have children? A wife?” Frodo asked. His heart ached for this grave, melancholy man.

“I never did. I did have a sweetheart, but I am quite certain she has since married someone else.”

The three of them spent the remainder of the morning talking.  Conversation diverted Frodo’s mind from the constant worrying for Merry’s safety.  There was nothing he could do about Merry at this moment. He had to depend on his cousin being self-reliant.  But meanwhile he could distract himself by talking to these kind men, both of whom he grew quickly fond of.  The men, in turn, seemed to enjoy talking to him and asking him many questions about his faraway Shire.  Frodo came to learn why they had been thrown into prison.  

Barsothon had been arrested for defying an order given to him as a guard of the Citadel to use force against street vendors.  

“I could not do it,“ Barsothon said. “They’re harmless for the most part and unarmed, and I couldn’t bear to frighten or harm them for no reason other than the Steward did not want vendors cluttering the street on that particular day. I chose not to do it. The Steward has never liked me much, and I have clashed against his son on more than one occasion.  So he eagerly took the chance he could to accuse me of treason.”

“That’s dreadful,” Frodo said, shivering with sympathy.  “How much longer will you be in here?”

Barsothon shrugged. “As long as it pleases the Steward, I imagine.”

“And you?” Frodo asked Elrol.

“I’ve been accused of spying for the Enemy.”

“Spying for the Enemy!” Frodo sputtered. “Why would they think that?”

“Coins.” Elrol shook his head. “I was seen receiving coins from a man from Harad.  But it was not for a reason that you think. I am an artist, you see, and this man had taken a liking to my prints.”

A commotion outside the cell startled the three of them, and Frodo looked up to see Faramir standing before them. He looked pale and stern.

“You must come with me,” Faramir said, nodding to Frodo.  The guards scrambled to open the door to the cell.  Barsothon helped Frodo to his feet.  Frodo’s legs had cramped from sitting on the cold stone floor of the dungeon. He staggered out of the cell and followed Faramir down the corridor.

“Are you injured?” Faramir asked as they walked.

“No.“ Frodo looked up at Faramir’s face, but Faramir stared straight ahead. His lips were thin with distaste, and Frodo could not discern whether his anger was directed at him or at the situation.

“Faramir,” he started. He so wanted Faramir not to despise him for what had happened. He needed a friend and ally, at least a sympathetic face.

But Faramir looked down at him with no sympathy at all in his face. “What made you do it?” he demanded. “I trusted you. I considered you a friend. I had no notion that your purpose in coming to Minas Tirith was thievery and deceit.” His voice was cold and clipped.

"Let me explain-"

“Not yet.” Faramir’s tone was brusque, and Frodo bit his tongue. His cheeks flamed.

They entered a private chamber, the same in which Faramir's brother Boromir had interrogated Frodo. Faramir settled into the chair and left Frodo standing.

For a long time, Faramir did not speak.  Frodo felt miserable under Faramir‘s hard gaze that he did not know what to say.  He longed to ask about Merry, but a terrible fear seized him. He was afraid to know the answer. If Faramir acted confused, if Faramir said that Merry had not come to see him, then it would mean the worst for Merry and that did not bear thinking about.

Finally Frodo took a deep breath. "I am not proud of what I did," he said, looking up.  "For my part, I valued our friendship.”

"Friendship," Faramir repeated with a scornful twist of his mouth. He let out a barely audible snort.

“Yes, friendship,” Frodo said.

"I called you here to tell you in person that you are to be slain in one month's time. I wanted to let you know that despite your treachery, I begged my father to spare your life, to either banish you or give you life in prison, but he would not hear of it."

"This is not such surprising news," Frodo said. He lifted his chin, trying desperately not to show the hurt that Faramir’s words caused. "If that is to be the verdict, then I shall endure it in peace. I have one appeal." He met Faramir‘s gaze full on. "My companion, Merry," he said.  His heart pounded in dread.  "Has he come to you?“

Faramir paused.  “No,” he said.  “I’ve neither seen nor heard from your companion.”

This was the worst possible news to Frodo, far worse than his sentence of death.  He did not realize just how much he had been counting on Faramir to tell him that Merry was safe until this moment. A veil of black fell across his vision. He swayed on his feet and next thing he knew his face smacked the cold stone floor hard and then there was darkness.

Next he was aware, he lay upon a hard surface, perhaps a table or a bureau. Someone slapped his cheeks and called his name. The world swam into full view. Faramir’s concerned face hovered over him, and everything came back to him in a rush.

“Merry,” he said, struggling to sit up.

“Just stay still,” Faramir said in a gruff voice, placing his hand on Frodo’s chest and keeping him still.

“No, please,“ Frodo grasped Faramir’s hand with both of his. “I fear for Merry’s life. These men that took us here are ruthless. I told him that if things went badly that he should come to you but now he has not which may mean--” He could not articulate the worst thoughts that came to him. “I would beg of you to find him and put him under your protection. He had nothing to do with my crime. He tried to stop me-”

"I will seek out your friend and put him under my protection," Faramir said with bitterness. "Because it is my duty to protect the innocent." He jerked his hand from Frodo’s grasp, removed his cloak, and draped it over Frodo’s trembling form.

Frodo tried to relax under the warmth of the cloak, but he could not. It might already be too late. Surely the men had realized by now that Frodo had been caught.  But if there was any chance at all that Merry had escaped and was hiding somewhere in the city, then Faramir could help him. And once Merry was safe, Frodo knew he could bear the brunt of his sentence and of Faramir’s coldness toward him.  If Merry was safe, Frodo could also bear the shame he would feel when Bilbo and Gandalf found out his fate.  

Faramir paced, looking distraught.  “Tell me, Frodo, how you came to do this deed. Who are these men who brought you? Tell me everything.”

Still lying under the warmth of Faramir’s cloak, Frodo told Faramir about his and Merry’s meeting in Bree with Barlen and Kanat.  Faramir listened with a grave expression as Frodo described what he had been told and promised.  “I am very frightened for Merry,” Frodo ended.  “Please, I would beg you to find him as soon as possible and assure his safe passage home. He is only here in Minas Tirith because I insisted.” Frodo swallowed. “Traveling the world was so much more important to me than what I had agreed to do.  I wish that in truth we had been here only to visit.”

“I, too,” Faramir said. “I will try to appeal to my father, but I must warn you that he often scorns my council. Still, I will plead on your behalf. And I will find your friend. Are the people with whom you share the dungeon kind?”

Frodo detected warmth in Faramir’s voice for the first time, and it made his heart feel better. “They are. They are far more innocent than I am. Can something not be done for them? They are good and noble men who have been accused falsely.”

“I will see what I can do,” Faramir said, looking away. “As I said, I do not have much clout with my father. This you know.”

Frodo added with sudden inspiration, “There is one who might help if you can send word to him. He is a wizard called Gandalf the Gray. If you sent a message to Bree. I know it won‘t likely do me much good, but it might help Merry. And the others in the cell with me.”

Faramir looked surprised.  “The Grey Wizard, he is a friend of yours?”

“Yes, a dear friend. He would come.“ Frodo sighed. “He will never forgive me, but he will come.”

“Mithrandir.” Faramir nodded.

“You know him well?” Frodo asked in delight, forgetting for just a moment that he was Faramir’s prisoner and that Faramir was not terribly happy with him.

Faramir smiled, and that gave Frodo hope. “Alas, he is not Father’s favorite person, but he may have more influence than I would.”

Frodo nodded. His heart rushed to his face in a grateful flush, giving him extra strength. He sat up and grabbed Faramir’s hand. “I know you despise me now, and that is all right, but you have given me more hope than I could ever imagine.”

When Frodo returned to his cell, color had returned to his face and the others noticed his cheerful mood.

“How was it to speak to the Steward‘s son?” Elrol asked.

“He promised to do what he could. For all of us.”

Barsothon laughed cynically. “He might try. He’s got heart, that one.  The problem is that he’s not well loved by his father and thus has no influence. If you had befriended the elder brother you might have gotten somewhere.”

Frodo looked down, his joy suddenly deflated. Barsothon looked at him with sudden shame. “I am sorry,” he said. “I do not mean to crush your hope. This place puts a shadow over your heart after a time.”

“Please let me keep this hope,” Frodo said.  “It’s all I have now.”

Barsothon grasped Frodo’s shoulders in his much stronger hands.  “Yes. You are right. We must all keep hope.”

  
***

  
Frodo could not help it. The evening the guards arrived to take him before the Lord Denethor, his heart pummeled his chest. No matter what his cellmates had said about not showing fear to the steward of Gondor, he was frightened to his core.  He did not want his life to end this way. It seemed so futile, such a waste. He only wished that there was something, anything that he could do to change his fate. If he thought that begging would get him anywhere, he would. But he had seen how merciless Boromir had been.  

A month had passed since his conversation with Faramir. He had heard nothing from him since then. He did not know if Merry was safe or if he had sent word to Gandalf. He knew nothing aside from the days passed so slowly in this dark dungeon. He craved the sunlight so much that he ached everywhere. He craved the grass beneath his feet.  He now knew what Barsothon had meant when he said that this place brought a shadow over his heart.

And now it was about to end. His throat tightened. If the steward of Gondor sentenced him to death, he would be slain at sunrise. He would never see the Shire again. There was no hope of Gandalf or of anyone else coming to save him.  Gandalf would get the message, but too late.

By the time the guards had led Frodo to the Great Hall to stand before the Lord Denethor, he was shaking all over but determined to keep his chin up. He felt so small compared to everyone and everything else.  He felt unworthy of the nobility of the hall.   He had not washed in days, and his clothes were grimy and torn.  

“Come forth, Halfling,” Denethor said, not unkindly, although Frodo could not tell whether or not there was mockery in his voice.

The guards guided Frodo forward. One stood on either side of him like two stalwart pillars.

“What is your name?”

Frodo took a breath. He was going to be brave before this lord of men no matter what happened. “Frodo Baggins,” he said in a clear voice. “My lord.”

“From whence do you come?”

“I come from the North, in a land called the Shire.” He was proud of how steady he had so far kept his voice.

“Frodo Baggins of the Shire,” Denethor said. “You have come to our city and committed a crime that has a grave price to it. What was it that you were hoping to accomplish?”

Frodo hung his head. It was such a shameful situation. He, Frodo Baggins, friend of wizards and Elves, was a common criminal in the eyes of this lord of Men. He hardly knew what to say. “I’m afraid it was childish curiosity on my part, my lord. I had never traveled out of the Shire before and those men--” His glance flickered at Denethor because he did not know how much Faramir had told him about the Kanat and Barlen.  “The men that brought us here promised that we would be able to visit a library the likes of which I would never get to see. And I do love books and maps,” there he could not help his enthusiasm and he stopped to catch his breath. “And your son, Faramir, was kind and he showed me--” He stopped, wondering if perhaps it was not such a good idea to bring Faramir up in conversation with the father that did not respect him.

“Faramir has fought hard for your life.”

Frodo bowed his head.

“He has begged me to spare your life,” Denethor added.

Frodo could not breathe, for now he would find out for certain what his fate was to be.  A cold snake twisted inside his stomach.  

Denethor went on. “It is the law of this land for anyone over the age of fifteen who commits this crime to be put to death.  Especially because you come from a faraway land,  many would see you die as a lesson to any others.  I would be inclined to give into my son’s wheedling as I imagine this is not a crime you would care to repeat.  However, if I choose not to carry forth my law, it may create more conflict than I am prepared to deal with. Therefore, I must ignore the appeals of my son and sentence you to death by the sword at sunrise.”

Frodo had thought that he could bear the pronouncement bravely, but his legs simply gave out. He would have spilled right to the ground if the guard next to him hadn’t grabbed his arm.  

“Take him back,” Denethor said.

The guards spun him around and guided him back to the dungeon. There was no mercy to be found in this land.

When he reached his cell again, the others saw immediately on his face what the verdict was to be.

Barsothon sighed bitterly. “It is a terrible shame.”

“I am sorry, halfling,” Elrol said.  “He could still grant you mercy by morning.”

“I don’t mind dying,” Frodo said. “I am frightened, of course, but I can bear it. But.” He trembled and Barsothon put his arm around him to give him extra warmth and comfort. “I don’t want to die by the sword,” he finished. “I would beg either of you to--”

“Don’t,” Barsothon cut in. “Neither of us would have that on our hands. It’s not fair of you to ask it of us.”

“You must have hope,“ Elrol said. “He could still grant you mercy. I’ve heard of it happening. The men are not going to enjoy putting to death one that looks to them like a child of their kind.”

Frodo sighed, deeply ashamed of his cowardly moment. “Please forgive me. I should never have suggested such a burden for either of you.”

Barsothon enfolded Frodo in his arms and just held him.

After a time, Frodo looked up with a smile. “Now that I know what my fate is to be, there is comfort in knowing that it will all be over soon.  I only wish I could see my cousin Merry once more. I wish Faramir had told me he was safe.”

Frodo wondered if Faramir would come to see him. He would dearly like to say farewell to him, but he thought that Faramir probably would not want to see him. He might feel ashamed that he had been unable to save Frodo from his fate.  There might be other reasons. Perhaps he was accompanying Merry home at this very time.  Poor Merry. Frodo hoped that Merry would be safely home before he learned of Frodo’s ultimate fate.

Frodo thought he would refuse to sleep his last night alive, and he tried, but as the morning encroached, his eyes grew heavier. He knew he should keep them open so that he would not miss a moment of his last moments alive.

“Come.” The guards were there outside the cell, and the clanging of their armor and harsh voices startled Frodo awake. He had been dreaming about Elves singing on a pristine shore.  He climbed to his feet. Elrol woke immediately and he embraced Frodo. Frodo was amazed to see that he wept.

“Don‘t,” Frodo said to him. “You’ll be out of here before you know it, and with your children and wife again.”

Elrol nodded. “Thank you for your companionship.”

Barsothon also woke up and he clasped Frodo’s hand.  Frodo had not realized how clammy his hand felt until then.  “Thank you, Frodo. And thank you for fighting for us. The world will see a great loss this morning.”

At last the guards came for him and he was pulled along the corridor, one step in front of the other. He tried to imagine how it would feel when the sword came to his throat. He anticipated that it would hurt very much, and it was the pain that he feared more than death.  It wouldn’t last long though. No longer than a second, and then it would be all over.  

&lt;I&gt;Oh, Merry, just to see your face one more time and to tell you how foolish I was. Just to see Pippin one more time and Bilbo, too.&lt;/I&gt;

The guards, under Boromir’s command, stood Frodo in front of the wall in the courtyard.  Not far from where he stood was the hole in which he had hidden the night he had stolen the bark. He watched the eastern sky fill with growing light, then pink, then brighter oranges.  The sun became a golden orb that slowly began to rise. Frodo felt numb and wished the whole deed would just get over.

The guard who was to do the deed drew his sword, but he did not look happy about it. He spoke in a low voice to his companion. “It seems too much like slaying a child. I don’t like it.”

Frodo’s attention was caught by two figures walking briskly across the courtyard toward them.

One he recognized as Faramir. The other looked familiar to him, but he did not remember where he had seen him.

Frodo’s heart leaped with hope. Faramir was unlikely to be able to do anything, but at least he was a friendly face. Then Frodo remembered where he had seen the other figure.

In Bree. The Ranger who had been in the corner in the Prancing Pony. Frodo could not imagine what he was doing here or how he knew Faramir.

Faramir stepped in front of the guards. “I will not allow this.”

“Step aside, brother,” Boromir said.

“No.” Faramir stood strong. “You will slice through me first.  This is low and vile, to slay an innocent such as this because it is easy. Yes, he was wrong in what he did, but he did not do it with wicked intention and he was fooled into it by men who deserve this far more than he does. Why do you not seek them out?”

“Will you cause a scene here until Father comes out?” Boromir demanded.

“If I must.”

“Then we will have you locked up until the deed is done.”

“You do not have the authority to do that.”  

Frodo’s heart quailed at the two men, mighty captains as they were, facing each other.   The guards looked uncertain, afraid to obey or not obey either one of them.

“As Captain of Gondor,” Faramir said. “I am stepping forward to end this nonsense. Put your sword away,” he demanded of the executioner. The executioner looked at Boromir and then at Faramir.  

“Would you have us disobey Father?” Boromir asked.

“Maybe you should more often,” Faramir said. “A leader is disobeyed when his commands are unethical and mad. I would not soil this courtyard with the blood of this halfling.”

“All right. You have wielded your power of Captain and as your brother, I shall respect this decision. However, this halfling must forthwith be banished from the Kingdom of Gondor under penalty of death. And all who witness this must be advised not to speak a word of what happened here.” Boromir’s grey eyes were stern, and Frodo knew that he would be obeyed.

Frodo’s heart was filled with love and gratitude for Faramir.  He could not believe his fortune.  His knees buckled and he sank to the ground, his back against the wall, and he clutched his knees to his chest.

  
Boromir and the guards strode away.  Faramir knelt beside Frodo. “Are you all right?”

Frodo nodded, still struggling to catch his breath. “Thank you. I owe you everything. Why did you do this for me? Why?”

“Because I thought about Mithrandir and his fondness for you and I wondered what he would advice in this situation. And I am quite fond of you myself, although our friendship has been rudely curtailed.” Faramir managed a grim smile. “And I must get you out of the City before Father catches wind of it. This man will get you home. This is Strider. He is a Ranger of the North and he knows the lands between Gondor and your home as he does the back of his hand.”

Frodo glanced up at Strider in wonder. “You were in the Prancing Pony that night we met those men.”

“I only wish I had followed you sooner,” Strider said. “I was left uneasy at the idea of two Shire hobbits following those strange men into the wildness. However you did not appear to be going against your will and so I left it at that. But the more I thought about it, the more it left me with unease.  So I set off to follow you. I only got here a few weeks ago. Come, we must leave this place under cover.”

“And what of Merry? Any word?” Frodo asked Faramir.

“He should be safe in Bree by now,” Faramir said.

Frodo nearly fainted from relief.  “So all’s well that ends well.”

“Only if you leave as soon as possible!”

  
“I must say that this is much better company than the last time we were in here,” Frodo said. The Common Room in the Prancing Pony looked almost the same as it had nearly a year earlier.  A fire crackled in the hearth, the tables were filled with both hobbits and men of Breeland and a few strangers.  They made quite the unique table, with the two Shire hobbits, Ranger, and wizard.

“You may be the only one who thinks so,” Strider said, glancing around at the Breelanders, none of whom would return his gaze.  

“Don’t worry about them,“ Frodo said. “They’ve just not been out in the world. Pity.”

“Has this last year not been enough of an adventure for you?” Merry asked in disbelief.

Frodo laughed. “Merry, I can say with complete honesty that I never wish to leave the Shire again.”

“After my ma is done with us both we will never &lt;I&gt;be&lt;/I&gt; able to leave the Shire again,” Merry said in a glum voice.

“I shall miss you, Strider,” Frodo said. “I know Gandalf will show up now and again, but is it unseemly for a Ranger to come to a hobbit hole for a bite to eat?”

Strider laughed. “I would gladly come and I shall, for my path takes me near Hobbiton more often than you may imagine. And a hobbit‘s hospitality would never be turned down.”

“Excellent! I should very much like to pay you back all the kindness you have shown a foolish hobbit.”

Gandalf blew a smoke ring with a dissatisfied grunt.

“And you, too, Gandalf, but I thought that went without saying!”

“I was simply agreeing with the foolish hobbit part once again.”

“And if only Faramir would come,” Frodo said. “He really came through at the end, although he now has a terrible impression of hobbits.” He groaned and put his head in his hands. “I cannot believe I am banished from the great city of Minas Tirith. For all time.”

Merry burst into laugher. “Wait until Pippin hears that part.”

“That is but a small matter,” Gandalf said, unable to hide the twinkle in his eyes. “If ever the King returns, I imagine he’ll reconsider.”

Frodo snorted. “That will be a day to remember.”

“Much like this holiday,” Merry said.

The four of them laughed. Frodo missed the glance that Gandalf and Strider exchanged.

“Let’s order another supper,” Frodo said. “It’s been at least two hours.”

Merry nodded eagerly, and they flagged down Nob.


End file.
